Always Here
by egyouppt
Summary: She still wears his ring. Finchel future fic.


**A/N:** _I've been feeling kinda down lately. So this is the result, I guess. =D_

_I hope you end up liking it. I'd really appreciate feedback. _

_Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from Glee or its affiliates._

* * *

She sits at the piano. _Life goes on._ That's what they all tell her. _There are better days._ What do they know?

Nothing.

They don't know anything. Why should life go on? Why should there be better days? She doesn't have anyone to share them with anymore. She can only play a few notes before she has to stop, burying her face in her hands.

She can pretend he's still here. He's coming through the door and toeing off his shoes. "Rach!" he'll call. "Rachel, babe. I'm home." He'll come through the kitchen and wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her neck. She'll tell him he's distracting her from making dinner. Neither of them will care. "I love you," he'll say.

Except he won't. She won't. _They_ won't. Because _they_ aren't. Because _he_ isn't. Her elbows bang on the keys and she can't stop the tears. She can pretend all she wants, but it won't make a difference. It won't _help._ Nothing helps. _Nothing._ Her friends say maybe she should take up drinking.

She doesn't. The last thing Finn would ever want of her is to become some drunken loser holing up in the shady bars of New York. Just because he's not here (he'll never be here) doesn't mean she ever wants to disappoint him. So instead she drowns her sorrows in sad songs and musical rehearsals.

She doesn't cry.

At least not until she's in bed at night. That's when she curls up in a ball and sobs. And sobs and sobs and cries until there's nothing left for the night. That's when she lets the memories haunt her. And there are a lot of them. She remembers them all. Like the time they bought this apartment. And the time he proposed to her in his car on the way home from a Mets game. She shakes her head.

She's got to practice, she tells herself. Rachel places her hands on the keys again, insisting that _this time_ she'll play it. She'll get it right. She's supposed to play and sing for a private party on Friday.

If only the song didn't have to be the one she and Finn had been planning to use at their wedding.

"You're not getting married anymore," she whispers to herself. She's not doing anything anymore. At least not anything with the passion and vigor that she used to. But then, Finn had been there to support and encourage and love her. And now he's not and it makes her feel like she's…_not._

It's been seventeen days since the call and ten since her heart collapsed in her chest. She doesn't know if she can handle sixty more years of this pain.

* * *

It's an ordinary day. Not a good one necessarily, but fine by all accounts. Rachel is walking the four blocks to the market to pick up a few things she'll need for dinner tonight. Tomorrow is her and Finn's anniversary, but she has a show and he's got some kind of mandatory training session to go to, so they're celebrating tonight. She finds it hard to believe she and Finn have already been together for eight years. And in a few months, they'll be getting married and she can't stop smiling to herself.

Sometimes she reflects on the girl she used to be and can't help but shake her head. That girl thought stardom was everything. Maybe to her, it was. But she was wrong. Nothing brings her more happiness than her life with Finn. She hums to herself as she rounds the corner, then frowns when she realizes she doesn't recognize the ringtone blaring from her phone.

"Hello?" she answers.

"Ms. Rachel Berry?"

Her heart slams into her throat. "I am. Who is this?"

"We tried calling your home phone number first." Yes, she thinks, because _that_ really answers her question. She listens to the caller anyway.

Her stomach drops and her eyes grow blurry. Something about Finn visiting a friend at the construction site for his birthday. Something about a piece of equipment falling. A hospital. Critical condition.

She can't hail a cab fast enough.

When she arrives at the hospital, they don't let her see him. See _Finn._ They don't understand. He's her _everything._ They tell her no, not until he's stable. What about her? _Her_ stability? She needs to see him. Needs _him._ But they don't get it and they keep saying no, no, and no. Her heart keeps breaking.

She waits. Her legs cramp up in the chair she's sitting in. But she can't sit straight. Sitting straight conveys confidence, assurance. She's not confident or assured of anything right now. And she'd promised Finn eight years ago no more lying. She lets the tears flow; doesn't care if people are staring at her or not. Her love, her_ life_ is hanging by a thread. Fifty three-threads actually. And a weak and rapid heartbeat.

She doesn't understand the medical speak when they try to explain to her what's going on. She thinks maybe she would if her head weren't so clouded with thoughts of doom and despair. _Please._

"He's stable for now," a man in a starch white coat tells her. _For now._ Her life is almost okay. _For now._

The doctor says she can visit for twenty minutes. How do you sum up everything you feel for the love of your life in twenty minutes? It doesn't make sense to her. Nothing makes sense to her anymore.

He looks terrible. White. Pale. _Broken._ He looks wrong. His hair is all limp and he feels clammy. The nurse watches her from the doorway.

She grasps his hand.

He doesn't show any indication that he feels it. She squeezes harder.

His eyelids flutter. She smiles a little.

But he doesn't wake up.

"I love you," she whispers. "You promised me you wouldn't ever give up on me. Right after graduation you said that." The nurse tells her it's time to go. "I'm holding you to that." She kisses his forehead.

It takes two more days for them to let her stay the night. She tells her understudy to suit up.

She's curled up in a chair next to his bed, resting her hand in his when she's startled awake by a cough. She looks up. His eyes. They're a little blank and a little lost and the wrong, wrong, sad shade of golden brown.

But they're open.

"Rachel?" he croaks out. She takes a deep breath. This better be real. It _has_ to be real. Or she'll never forgive her mind. Forgive herself.

"Finn," she breathes. And then she's crying and shuddering again. He's staring at her in horror. "What _happened?"_ she whispers furiously.

"I don't…_it hurts,_ Rachel." He scrunches his eyes closed tightly and her heart squeezes painfully as she watches him. It's not right. It's not _fair._ "What's wrong with me?" His voice is low, fearful.

She can't face him. "I don't know," she answers honestly. He tells her he loves her, his voice cracking. She says, "I know."

She watches his eyes flutter, his chest barely rising and falling. She tries to remember what the numbers on the monitor mean. But she can't.

"I'm so tired," he murmurs. He's asleep before she can say she loves him back.

It becomes her routine. Eat, sleep, breathe in the hospital. She reads the paper when he's sleeping, which is most of the time. Her understudy nails the part, the reviews tell her. She doesn't care.

"How long will he have to stay here?" Rachel asks a nurse on his fifth day in the hospital.

The nurse looks at her sympathetically. "I wish I had the answers for you, sweetie. I really do."

Rachel closes her eyes and nods. She's going to lose her job. Even if Finn gets better, will he ever be able to work again?

Worst of all, she still doesn't know what _happened._ If only she'd listened when she received that first phone call. But she didn't. And now her mind is lost in limbo as Finn's life dangles right in front of her. She reaches for it. But she already knows she can't help him.

On day six, Carole and Burt show up. Her mother-in-law to be stares at her son. She falls apart. Rachel wants to comfort the woman. She tries. She can't.

On day seven, he cries. She looks at him to see tears fall down his cheeks. She gently wipes them away with her fingers and presses a kiss to his forehead. He squeezes her hand. Tightly. She lets him.

He looks worse than ever, she thinks. The doctors say he should be getting better. If that's true, why is his skin so pallid? So wrong? Why are there still yards and yards of bandages soaked in red? Why can he still barely talk? Why isn't he home and resting? They're getting _married._

"Finn," she says quietly. There isn't anything left to say. Or there's too much. Either way, she can't find the words. She's Rachel Berry and she doesn't have the words. She sniffles.

"Rachel," he chokes out, his chest heaving with the effort. "I can't…" He doesn't. She already knows it's too late. He's wasted all the energy he has on saying her name one last time; she curses him. He was supposed to _hold on._

The nurses usher her out. The doctors do what they can. It isn't enough. "You _promised_ me," she says to Finn. To no one. Because he's gone. She knows they can't bring him back. This time it's quieter, filled with anguish. "You promised."

He leaves. She knows he doesn't mean to. It's not his fault. But he's left and now all _she_ has left is nothing. She calls her director and tells him she's quitting the show; she's sorry. He doesn't understand.

She doesn't care. She watches Finn's face be covered with a sheet. She calls her dads. They tell her they're already in New York.

She spends the next three days crying in the bathtub. Her dads let her.

When she can face them again, she thanks them. She walks into the bedroom. It smells like him. It's wrong. She tears the comforter off the bed. And the sheets. She falls asleep on the bare mattress, shivering.

There are still bills to be paid. Her dads tell her they'll take care of it. She's so lost and broken and _dead_ that she lets them.

Life isn't anything without Finn.

She gets a letter in the mail the next day.

_Dear Rachel,_

_I'm telling Kurt to write this 'cause he can actually write. I'm so tired, babe. It hurts. You're getting some lunch right now. Are my legs on fire? It feels like they are. I love you. I've never loved anyone more. You're gonna be a star, Rachel. I'm gonna be at all your shows. If not for real, then in your heart. I hope you'll keep me there, you know? In your heart. 'Cause you're in mine. I don't think I can talk anymore though. Did I mention I'm tired? I don't think I can do this. But I need you to keep living. For me._

_Love,  
Finn._

She reads it five times before she falls to the floor. Kurt calls her hours later and asks if she's okay.

"I got it," she tells him.

He doesn't play stupid. "He loved you more than anything."

"I know. He asked you on day seven, didn't he?"

Kurt hesitates. "Yes."

Rachel throws her phone across the room. She sighs and picks it up again. "I'm sorry," she says. Kurt tells her not to worry about it. "I knew he was tired. More tired than usual."

Kurt doesn't say anything back. They sit in silence on the phone for twenty minutes. "Thank you," she says softly.

"Take care of yourself, Rachel." She says she'll try.

She doesn't make any promises. Not anymore.

* * *

She frowns. This gig has been planned for months. She _has_ to do it. It's part of her life. Finn _asked_ her to keep living.

She's still not sure how to. She tears herself away from the piano bench and pulls out the letter. She looks at the date, biting her lip. May. It's _May._ Springtime. The season of life. Where's Finn? Because _he's_ not alive.

She hates spring. It lies.

* * *

She moves in with her friend Leslie. She can't afford the old apartment by herself. She keeps all of Finn's things in boxes, meticulously labeled.

She goes through everything. Every night.

Leslie tells her to move on. "_How?_"she wonders aloud.

"Rachel," her friend says softly. "Do you remember the eulogy you gave at Finn's funeral."

She nods her head, wiping at her eyes. "And you talked about how Finn gave you everything? And all he asked of you was to live for him?" She nods again. "This isn't living for him, babe, it's not. I'm not saying go out and find a new man. I know how much you loved him—"

"Love," Rachel cuts in fiercely. "I _love_ him."

"Rachel, he's _dead!_"

She stares up at Leslie.

She moves out five days later.

* * *

It's been six months. She doesn't feel much better. But she doesn't feel worse. She supposes that's progress.

Kurt calls her to tell her Quinn is engaged to some loser. It figures. She doesn't know what to say. But she hopes Quinn is happy.

Engaged. _She'd_ been engaged. She remembers that day.

* * *

"I _told_ you they'd win!" he tells her excitedly as he turns out of the stadium. She laughs. And then remembers she's supposed to be annoyed because he won.

But his enthusiasm is too infectious. "Whatever." But she can't keep a straight face. He grins at her.

He's going on and on and, "Man, that was so _awesome!_"

It puts him in a good enough mood that he doesn't even care that they're stuck in traffic. For over a half hour.

He turns to look at her seriously. "I love you."

She bites her lip because she's afraid of what's going to come next. He's not breaking up with her, is he? This isn't a "I love you, but I need my space," situation. Is it? "Finn…"

"Seriously," he says. "I love you and I know you're twenty-three, but Rachel, I just…Marry me. I don't care when or how or any of that. I just can't imagine having a life without you, ya know? And I know you love me and everything, so yeah. Marry me?"

They're in a traffic jam in New York and he wants to marry her. She feels dizzy. _Good_ dizzy.

"When I was a little girl," she says, "I imagined something romantic for this moment." His face starts to fall, but she smiles encouragingly at him. "But maybe this is better. It's more…you. Yes, Finn. I'd _love_ to marry you." And then she lets herself squeal in delight and he's laughing and hugging her across the CD holder in between their seats, kissing her hard.

"I left your ring at the apartment." He gives her a sheepish one-shouldered shrug. "Honestly, this wasn't how I planned to ask you. Just kinda happened. God, I love you," he adds as they can finally move another ten feet.

He turns the music up.

She's never felt happier.

* * *

Ten and a half months. She's amazed she's lasted this long. She has her first audition in months. Kurt's staying with her for now. And her dads come down every other weekend.

She gets the part. But it isn't the same. There's no coming home to Finn. No telling him, "I did it, Finn! I got the part!" No jumping in his arms and being twirled around. No all nighters of congratulatory love-making.

"I knew you'd nail it," Kurt says happily, sipping his chardonnay. Her smile falters.

It's definitely not the same.

She pours herself a glass of amaretto. It tastes unnaturally bitter on her tongue. She squeezes her eyes shut to hold back the tears. She doesn't want to fall apart like this anymore.

Kurt walks over to her and places a hand on her shoulder. Comforting. "I know you wish he was here," he murmurs.

"He _is,_" she insists. Kurt looks at her blankly. "Don't you _see_, Kurt?" She's ranting and raving and she knows it. It doesn't matter. "He's _always_ here. Everywhere I turn, I'm reminded of him. I can't escape him. I _can't._"

She's crying into her hands and Kurt rubs small circles on her back. She hiccups. "He _promised,_" she whispers.

"Rachel." She doesn't look up. Kurt sighs. "If there was anything anyone could have done, they would have done it. You're _stronger_ than this. I _know_ you."

"Kurt," she sighs. "I appreciate it. Someday, I'm going to be on top again. But there's no instant recovery after the _love of your life dies._ There just isn't." She takes another sip of liqueur. "This isn't going to cut it," she grumbles.

She drinks brandy instead. It doesn't help. Kurt watches her sadly. She got the part and she's sitting here moping into a glass of alcohol.

She's never felt more miserable.

* * *

Eleven months and eight days. She drags herself home from the theatre. She's okay. Enough. That's what she tells herself, anyway.

She frowns at the cloudless, sunny sky. It's so peaceful-looking. She wants it to rain. It's spring. It's supposed to rain. Isn't it? It's raining in her head and in her heart.

Why's it so sunny, then? She hates spring.

It ruins her.

* * *

Eleven months and thirteen days.

She makes linguini for herself. That's what she was going to make on this day a year ago. But then she got a phone call and Finn was in the hospital and she forgot how to breathe.

How to feel.

Her dinner doesn't taste right. She doesn't think linguini is meant to be a solitary food. She trashes it.

Tomorrow would have been her nine-years with Finn. Except…except they would have been married by now. For almost a whole month! But they're not. They'll never be.

She's not hungry anymore.

She's back to crying in the bathtub when Kurt comes home.

* * *

Today's the day. It's been a year. A whole year of living (can she call it living, really?) without Finn. A whole year of suffering and stuttering.

She parks her car on the side of the road. The walk will clear her head. She remembers where he's at, though she hasn't been able to bring herself here since the day he was buried. But she needs to do this now, she knows.

She walks slowly. Thinks slowly. Feels slowly.

She's slow and teary-eyed. _She's human._ She finds his marker and kneels down in front of it.

She reads his name, traces the letters with her fingers. It's real after all. She won't wake up and find she's been victim to a never-ending nightmare. He's really not here. He isn't anywhere, that's what people tell her.

They're not wrong. But they're not _right_ either. She loves him. Love isn't past tense. People and their bourgeois notions that if a person goes away, so does the love you feel for them.

Wrong.

The tears fall this time. She sits down and wraps her arms around the headstone, whispering his name. The stone is cold. Her heart is _cold._ She misses him.

She doesn't realize she's crushing the flowers people have set on his grave. Not at first, anyway. She sighs a little when she _does_ realize. Just like everything else beautiful, they've been destroyed. Finn's been destroyed. She's been utterly destroyed.

She didn't bring flowers. She thinks maybe she's brought something better. Her love. Wasn't that his favorite thing? That's what he always told her. What she always believed. Still believes.

She used to think that their graves would be adjacent. They'd live to be ninety and die peacefully. Together. Not one in a hospital gown with a sweaty forehead and the other with an unforeseeable future.

She used to think a lot. Now she just hurts. She leans against the stone, her feet curled under her. It's sunny today, too. Sunny and May. She hates it. Until she sees light reflecting on her finger. They're not getting married. No, not anymore. But she smiles a little because there's light on her hand. Maybe someday there'll be light in her heart. "I love you," she says to the engraving of his name. "I would have married you."

She pulls something out of her coat pocket. It's his letter. She kisses the paper and sets it down, pulling another sheet of paper from her pocket, she writes.

_Dear Finn,_

_Your letter has become my favorite thing to read and I feel I'm long overdue, but I'm writing you back. I know you won't be able to read it from where you are, but someday. I love you. Everyone tries to tell me I loved you, but they don't understand. I miss you all the time, but I'm trying to get better. I'm trying to live. For you. No matter what anyone else says, I_ love_ you. I still wear your ring, you know. I'm never going to take it off. I'm never going to let you stop being my everything. Rest well, Finn._

_Love, _  
_Rachel_

She picks his letter back up and replaces it with hers, standing up. She looks at the piece of paper, among all the crushed flowers. Maybe it's fitting. Some things get destroyed and others replace them. Everything she's written is true. She looks down at his grave again like this is an ordinary thing for her to do. It's just an ordinary day. She loves him. She'll love him forever. No, they'll never marry, but it doesn't change anything anymore. She squares her shoulders and finally says her goodbye.

_Life goes on._

She still wears his ring.

* * *

_Please don't hit me with a crutch. D:_

_I love you guys and your support means everything to me. Thanks for reading!_

_Reviews = love. =) _


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